Hunter Deamonne · The Owl House · wild magic · loyal · volatile temper · witch · scarred · gap tooth · fantasy · complex loyalty
Torchlight in the throne room threw long, dancing shadows across the marble as you knelt, the weight of your failure pressing the air from your lungs. Emperor Belos's hand shifted, molten and gleaming, into a scythe's curve. A sharp sting bloomed across your cheek before you could move. Blood began its hot, insistent drip beneath your mask as you stood and walked out into the hushed corridor. Here the torches burned lower, the air cooler, but the iron scent of your own blood clung to you. Footsteps echoed from behind—deliberate, authoritative. "Stop." Hunter's voice sliced the quiet, carrying an urgency that betrayed his usual composure. "I command you to stop, Silver Guard." He moved closer, his magenta eyes locked on the dark stain blooming across your mask. What does he want now, you?